Cries in the Night
by KylaRyan
Summary: I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!" Inspired by KCS' one-shot "All God's Little Creatures". Just a bit of feline cuteness that was begging to be written.
1. The Mysterious Box

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures".

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter One: The Mysterious Box**  
"Watson, is there any way I can convince you to stay in today and rest?"  
Holmes hadn't even looked up from whatever it was he was constructing--it looked like a three dimensional diagram of our flat--and yet he still knew I was heading out to my practice.  
"Short of you suddenly contracting this infernal pneumonia that's going around, I don't think so," I immediately replied.  
With a slight cough that was clearly fake, Holmes asked me what the intial symptoms were.  
"And have you fake being sick? Not a chance," I replied, heading down the 17 steps to the front door.

As I paid the cab driver, I noticed that there was a small, blanket-covered wooden crate on the doorstep of our flat when I returned home that evening.  
I approached the crate cautiously, for its contents could be deadly. Expecting the worst, I tapped the side of the crate with my walking stick (the foul winter weather had, as usual, left my old war wound feeling quite sore).  
The wet blanket covering the crate bulged upwards as my tap awakened the crate's mysterious resident.  
"Watson, quit playing with that cat."  
So focused was I on the crate, I didn't even realize that Holmes was behind me until he'd spoken.  
"Holmes!" I cried, slipping on a patch of ice in my surprise. He caught me, but he lost his own balance in the process.  
I couldn't help but laugh at the strange scene we made--Holmes had fallen backwards, pulling me on top of him.  
"Mister Holmes, Doctor--why is there a _kitten_ on the stoop!?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, opening the door to let us know what she thought of our antics to be stopped mid-rebuke by the discovery of a kitten on the stoop.  
"Someone figuring that Watson would know what to do with it," Holmes replied matter-of-factly.  
"I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian," I objected.  
"Not everyone knows that," Holmes observed, as I got up off of him.  
"Anyone who knows me well enough to leave a kitten on my doorstep knows I am not a veterinarian," I replied, picking up the crate and carrying it up the stairs to our sitting room, Holmes close behind me.  
"One of the Irregulars might have left you the kitten, Watson," Holmes insisted.  
"Oh?" I asked, slightly amused that Holmes was being so stubborn over the motive behind the kitten being left on our doorstep.  
"I overheard Campbell asking Mrs. Hudson what a war veteran did the other day," Holmes continued, blissfully unaware that his voice had become background noise to me as I examined the kitten. At least, his voice was background noise until he suddenly swore violently, startling me so badly I almost dropped the kitten.  
"What in blazes, Holmes?" I growled in annoyance.  
"That kitten is only a few days old, she still needs her mother to care for her," he explained. "And for her to be here on her own with us implies that her mother was likely killed."  
"How do you know how old this kitten is?" I asked, quite surprised as I had thought Holmes had no interest in any creature that was cute and adorable. The man will continue to surprise me, no matter how long its been since the day we first met.  
"The family mouser had kittens, and I observed their growth patterns," he explained. I figured that there probably was more to it, but I wasn't going to force him tell me, especially when I saw his gaze soften as he eyed the weak kitten in my hands.  
"Do you happen to know what we should do then?" I asked.  
"She needs warmth, and something to eat," he replied, before dashing off suddenly, leaving me standing in the sitting room, holding a kitten without a clue as to what I was supposed to do.


	2. Foster Care

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures".

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Two: Foster Care**  
The clatter of copper pots, followed by a shrill "Get out o' my kitchen this instant, Mister Holmes!" told me where Holmes had run off to--Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.  
That was when the kitten decided to inform all of London how she was feeling. I never thought that it was possible for anything to sound worse than Holmes playing his violin while in his foulest of moods, but that little kitten proved me wrong that night.  
And it wasn't just the pitch of her cries, either. How could anything be so small and create so loud a sound?  
"WATSON! Bring Victoria here!" Holmes hollered from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, interupting my thoughts.  
Mystified by Holmes' request, I immediately came downstairs to the kitchen, the still-wailing kitten in my arms.  
"I thought you said you were a doctor!" the detective bellowed over the wails of the kitten.  
"I've never had such a disagree-able patient before, Holmes," I replied as loudly as I could, gladly handing the kitten over to Holmes, who was sitting at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table.  
Cradling the kitten in the crook of his right arm on its back, Holmes began to nurse the kitten.  
My ears rang in the sudden silence.  
"What are you feeding it?" I asked finally, when my curiousity got the better of my reveling in the silence of the nursing kitten.  
"Some broth, with a little bit of milk mixed in," Holmes replied.  
I must have made an expression of disgust at the idea, for he added, "It actually doesn't taste as bad as it sounds, Watson."  
"You sampled it!?" I exclaimed, even more disgusted.  
"Of course," Holmes replied matter-of-factly. "How else would I have made sure it didn't burn her mouth?"

Once the kitten was finished nursing, Holmes showed me how to encourage her to go to the bathroom.  
"Now, if I were a mother cat, I would be using my tongue to do this," he lectured, rubbing the kitten's anal region with one of Mrs. Hudson's hand towels.  
After that disgusting duty was finished, Holmes brought the kitten back upstairs to our sitting room.  
Mrs. Hudson joined us a few moments later, with a basket full of old towels and two bottles full of the milk and broth mixture.  
"This should last the night," she said, indicating the bottles. Holmes nodded distractedly, as he was busy examining the kitten. Mrs. Hudson looked to me, but all I could do was shrug helplessly.  
With an annoyed sigh, our admirable landlady set the basket down on the floor in the middle of the sitting room and left.  
Holmes finished inspecting the kitten, wrapping her in a soft blanket that looked an awful lot like the sort of blankets used in cribs, though it was too new to have ever been in my friend's crib.  
"Well, it looks like Victoria really is a girl, and she seems to be healthy, all things considered," he informed me. "Now we should have a late dinner and get some sleep, for she will need feeding in four hours' time."  
"Like an infant," I observed.  
Holmes nodded, as Mrs. Hudson returned with our supper.


	3. Reasons

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures".

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Three: Reasons**  
"So, why are you so interested in this kitten, Holmes?" I asked as I buttered a roll.  
"I believe cats might be of some use in catching criminals," Holmes replied.  
"How so?"  
"Cats are natural predators, just like dogs," he replied. "However, they are solitary creatures, unlike dogs. They are also much quieter. A cat might be trained to track down a criminal without alerting them to the fact."  
"But cats can't be trained," I insisted.  
"Cats can be trained, my dear Watson," Holmes corrected me. "In fact, I was just reading about how the king of Siam (1) protects his treasury from burglars."  
"You really believe that cats can be trained to hang from the ceiling to jump down on burglars?" I asked, doubtful of the validity of such tales myself.  
"Of course," Holmes replied, his mouth full of half-chewed food.  
"But that doesn't explain your interest in this kitten," I insisted, adding almost as an afterthought, "Don't speak with your mouth full."  
Holmes swallowed.  
"It doesn't?" he asked, sincerely confused at my inability to follow his line of thinking.  
"If you wanted to train a cat to fight crime, why wait for a chance abandonment of an orphaned kitten on our doorstep instead of just buying a cat that you can be confident in the background of?" I asked.  
"That sentence sure got away from you, Watson," Holmes teased, before answering my question. "And I wasn't going to get a cat to train to fight crime until I had done more research into their capabilities."  
"Well, it seems as though you will be getting your research first hand, Holmes," I observed, ignoring his taunt.  
Holmes stood up, finished with his supper.  
"I highly recommend getting sleep now, Watson, for kittens sleep like babies, and I dare say you already know how loudly they demand food when they feel it's taking too long," he observed drily.

* * *

1) Thailand was known as "Siam" until 1939.


	4. Sleeping Like a Baby

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures".

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Four: Sleeping Like a Baby**  
The shrieking of Holmes' kitten woke me shortly after 2 A.M.

"Hush, Victoria, you'll wake Watson," Holmes rebuked the kitten.

Smiling at the idea of Holmes rebuking a kitten for disturbing my rest, I turned over in my bed and tried to go back to sleep. Despite the kitten's wailing, I managed to go back to sleep and stay asleep until the morning.

xxx

Holmes could barely keep his eyes open at breakfast, and I have very little doubt that he would have fallen asleep in his toast if I hadn't ordered him to go back to bed.

"What about Victoria?" Holmes immediately asked. Of course he would still be conscious enough to be concerned about her. "Her next feeding is in half an hour."

"Don't worry, Holmes, I'll make sure she is fed," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder, a silent offer of assistance.

"She needs to be fed every four hours, and then once she finishes eating, she needs to--" Holmes began, but I interrupted him.

"Holmes, I know what to do, you showed me last night. Now you must get some rest."

Admitting defeat, Holmes got up from the table and staggered drunkenly up to his room.

"He refused to let me tend to the kitten while he got some sleep, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson remarked, making me jump. I hadn't realized that she was there.

"Holmes mentioned that Victoria's next feeding will be in about thirty minutes," I remarked, knowing I wouldn't get an apology. "Is there a bottle of the broth mixture already made?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Mister Holmes had me make up enough of it to last until this evening when I brought up breakfast," she explained.

"Did you get any rest at all last night?" I asked.

"More than Mister Holmes did," she bluntly replied.

"I need to go to my practice, but I should be able to return at noon so that you can get some rest yourself," I said.

Our landlady nodded.

"I will make sure Mister Holmes remains asleep until you return, Doctor," she replied. "Though I doubt that it will be an issue, as he was dead on his feet earlier."

I smiled at her observation.

"Thank you," I said.

"It's no problem at all, Doctor," she said, dismissing my words of gratitude. "If I left the kitten alone in Mister Holmes' care, no one in all of Baker Street would get any sleep. Kittens sleep like babies, after all."


	5. Scheduling

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures". This story has also turned into an AU of my series 'The Elizabeth Holmes Cases'.

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Five: Scheduling**  
I directed my maid to send any would-be patients to Grant when I left for Baker Street at noon.

When I arrived at Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson greeted me, Victoria asleep in her arms.

Holmes would not be pleased to see the blue ribbon tied around Victoria's neck when he woke up.

"How is Holmes?" I asked.

"Still asleep," she replied, stifling a yawn.

"I'll wake him when I head to bed this evening, you stay in bed until tomorrow morning," I directed Mrs. Hudson, taking the kitten from her.

"Everything you need to take care of the kitten for the rest of the day is already up in your sitting room, Doctor," she told me as she went to her bedroom to get some sleep.

* * *

"Why didn't you wake me when you returned from your practice?" Holmes demanded as soon as he entered our sitting room.

I didn't even look up from feeding Victoria her evening bottle as I replied, "Holmes, you needed the rest, especially since you will be taking care of her at night for the next few weeks."

Whatever reply Holmes had been expecting, it wasn't the one I gave, if the silence that followed my reply was anything to go by.

The silence was interrupted by the patter of tiny feet on the stairs, and a breathless Irregular burst into the room.

"What's wrong, Campbell?" Holmes asked, but before Campbell could reply, there were more footsteps on the stairs.


	6. Nobody Expects

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures". This story has also turned into an AU of my series 'The Elizabeth Holmes Cases'.

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Six: Nobody Expects...**

A young constable I'd never met before burst into our sitting room. Campbell yelped and hid behind me. Victoria, focused so completely on her bottle, continued to nurse as though nothing abnormal--to her, at least, this wasn't the first time an Irregular had been chased into our sitting room by members of law enforcement--was occurring.  
"Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen," the constable said, his accent faintly Welsh. "But that lad is the prime suspect in a house fire."  
"Oi didn't 'ave anything ta do wif th' fire," Campbell insisted.  
"Constable, Campbell is innocent," Holmes growled.  
"So you know the lad?" the constable asked, a tinge of suspension entering his voice.  
"He does odd jobs for me," Holmes replied.  
"Like setting the home of a government official's secretary on fire?"  
My blood froze at the constable's question--Campbell's father had been hired by Holmes' brother as his secretary five months ago when his previous secretary quit without warning after Holmes had barged into Mycroft's office one too many times. If Campbell had been at the site of the fire...  
A glance at Holmes told me that he was thinking the same terrible thoughts I was.  
"You see, but you do not observe, Constable," Holmes replied, avoiding the man's question.  
"What I see is a young boy running away from a crime scene and the police, running to his confederates in the hopes of slipping away from justice," the constable shot back.  
"You failed to realise that the boy in question had every_ legal_ right to be there at the crime scene, because it was his father's house. He must have realized somehow that the fire wasn't accidental, so he went to the only man he trusted to catch his father's killer--me," Holmes lectured.  
"'E's right," Campbell added, as Victoria finished her bottle.  
"Watson, would you please examine Campbell? His hand is covered in blood," Holmes remarked, taking Victoria from me. To the constable, he said, "As for you, please go to Scotland Yard and have the Inspector who is working this case come here. I think he will want to hear what I have to say."  
The constable clearly did not like the way my friend was ordering him about, but he still did as he'd been directed to do.  
As Holmes left to inform Mrs. Hudson that we would have a guest staying with us for the next couple of days, Victoria comfortably asleep in his arms, I got my black bag from my desk and brought it over to the sofa, where Campbell now sat, staring in bewilderment at his blood-red hand--which was now dripping onto the carpet, I noted with great concern.  
"Holmes, I'll need a basin of luke-warm water and some soft towels!" I shouted.  
"Am Oi gonna 'ave a scar?" Campbell asked me as I assembled everything else I needed to treat his injury.  
"Probably. How did you hurt yourself like that?"  
"Cut myself tryin' ta get ta my dad," Campbell admitted. "'E made me leave 'im there in th' blaze, though. Told me ta go ta 'is boss ta warn 'is brother 'bout this criminal by th' name o' Zapados. Oi figured it'd be faster ta go straight ta th' man in danger."  
"Miguel Zapados wouldn't kill, at least not with a fire," Holmes remarked as he entered the sitting room, Victoria bundled up in that blanket again.  
"My dad didn't give me a first name, Mister 'Olmes," Campbell pointed out. "'E could 'ave been talkin' 'bout some other bloke by th' name o' Zapados."  
"Holmes, where's the--" I began to ask, but Mrs. Hudson's arrival with the water and towels cut me off.  
"Here you are, Doctor," she said as she handed them to me. I nodded my thanks and Mrs. Hudson left the room, but not before informing us that she would make some hot broth for Campbell.  
"Doctor, Oi can't feel my 'and any more," Campbell suddenly announced.  
"Holmes, sit down before you collapse," I ordered, not needing to look up at my friend to know that he was on the verge of fainting at Campbell's words, as I began to gently clean Campbell's hand.  
I felt ill as I got my first good look at Campbell's injury. Despite all the gruesome things I have seen in my life, my stomach still becomes queasy at the sight of the more gruesome acts of mankind, especially acts of violence against women and children.  
"Campbell, who tied this rope around your wrist?" I demanded, fearing the worst possible answer to be the truth. I could feel Holmes' questioning glare on my back, but I ignored him.  
"Th' lady who started th' fire," Campbell admitted.  
"Why did she tie you up?" Holmes asked, distracting the lad while I removed the embedded length of cord from his wrist.  
"She said she didn't want me ta stop 'er before she could deal wif my dad," Campbell replied, not even wincing as blood welled into the space left behind by the cord. He did wince when I applied liberal amounts of antiseptic to the wound, however.  
"What was she like, this woman?" Holmes asked, as I began to stitch Campbell's wound closed.  
"'Bout as tall as th' doctor, may be a few inches taller than 'im," Campbell recalled, straining his young brain to remember the details Holmes needed to track down this mysterious woman. "Long, black 'air, in a tight bun ta keep it out o' 'er face, black eyes an' darkish skin."  
"Darkish?" Holmes asked.  
"Loik one who'd been out in th' sun a lot, but 'ad started off wif darker skin," Campbell explained.  
I still didn't understand what Campbell was trying to say, but Holmes did, as he started tossing books off the shelves in search of something.  
I wrapped up Campbell's wrist, then turned around just in time to catch a large text on poisons and their antidotes with my face.  
"Doctor!" squeaked Campbell in fright as I fell backwards from the unexpected blow.  
Holmes was at my side in an instant, apologizing profusely for being so careless.  
"I'm so, so sorry, Wat-" he was saying, before he suddenly cut himself off apparently having spotted what he had been looking for in the first place immediately behind me. "Ah, there's the Z's," he said, eliciting an eye-roll from me.  
"I'm fine, Holmes," I muttered in reply to his unspoken question. "The worse I've got is a black eye."  
"Is 'e alright?" Campbell asked from where he sat on the couch behind me.  
"Completely fine, Campbell," Holmes replied. "His thick skull saved him from any serious injury."  
"Holmes, why were you looking for the Z's?" I asked.  
"Campbell's father may not have meant Miguel Zapados, but his sister, Daniela," Holmes explained. "And as I have never had to deal with her before, I wanted to see what I already know about her."  
"A woman, Holmes?" I asked, dubious of the ablity of a member of the fairer sex to be so cruel without great moviation, as he flipped to the entry in question and read it aloud in reply.  
"Zapados, Daniela. Sister of Miguel Zapados. Dangerous when crossed--will kill in cold blood. Married to Professor J. Moriarty, one child--male, Angel(1). Prefers to do things herself rather than hire representatives. Has a taste for pyrotechnics," he read aloud.  
"Holmes, she will come back for Campbell, won't she?" I asked.  
Holmes nodded.  
"She won't 'urt me, not so long as Oi've got yew two on my side," Campbell declared, his childish trust in us warming my heart.

1)"Angel" is an actual male Spanish name.


	7. The Spanish Inquisition

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures". This story has also turned into an AU of my series 'The Elizabeth Holmes Cases'. If anyone has any experience in writing a French/Cockney accent, your assistance will be most welcome in writing Inspector Lestrange's dialogue.

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Seven: ...The Spanish Inquistion**  
Mrs. Hudson re-entered the sitting room at this point, the kitten in her arms--Holmes must have asked her to take care of Victoria while he was busy with finding Campbell's father's killer--, to inform us that "that rude Welsh constable" had returned.  
"Is he alone?" Holmes asked.  
"No, he is not. Inspector Lestrange is with him," our landlady replied.  
"Send them both up then," Holmes directed.  
Moments later, Inspector Pierre Lestrange entered the sitting room.  
"Where is the constable who came with you, Inspector?" my friend asked, in lieu of a proper greeting.  
"Oi zent 'im back ta Zcotland Yard," Lestrange replied in his strange accent--a cross between French and Cockney. "Did yew need 'im ztill, Monsieur 'Olmez?"  
"No, I just wondered why he had not come up with you," Holmes replied dismissively.  
"Argall told me tha' yew 'ad information fer me, Monsieur 'Olmez," Lestrange remarked impatiently.  
"You are looking for the Spanish bride of an Englishman, Lestrange," Holmes replied. "You are looking for Daniela Zapados, or as she is know here in London, Mrs. Professor James Moriarty."  
"Oi need rock zolid proof ta zupport yer claimz," Lestrange immediately pointed out.  
"I have a witness, the young son of the victim," Holmes remarked indifferently.  
"A child'z word will not ztand in court, Monsieur 'Olmez," Lestrange remarked, his voice tinged with a slight sorrow.  
"A child's word will stand in court, Lestrange, when it is supported by the evidence I will provide," Holmes countered.  


* * *

Holmes was forced to wait until morning to visit the site of the fire, and when he finally did go, I was left in charge of a groggy, injured Irregular and a grumpy, very much awake kitten--Mrs. Hudson needed to get some sleep herself, as well as take care of her usual chores.  
I spent the entire morning alternating between taking care of Victoria and tending to Campbell. By the time Holmes returned shortly after noon, I was exhausted, and in quite a bit of pain--my leg and shoulder did not appreciate being abused so badly.  
"Watson, sit," my friend commanded upon entering the sitting room and seeing me.  
"I need to get this pitcher of water refilled so that I can finish cleaning Campbell's wrist," I objected.  
"I can do that, Watson," Holmes insisted, taking the heavy pitcher from me. "Sit."  
His tone brook no arguement, so I obeintly sat down in my armchair by the fire.  
"When I come back, you'd better still be in that chair, Watson," he warned me before heading back out of the room to refill the pitcher for me.


	8. Red Herring

A/N: Inspired by KCS' "All God's Little Creatures". This story has also turned into an AU of my series 'The Elizabeth Holmes Cases'.

Disclaimer: Watson and Holmes are not mine, but the kitten is.

**Chapter Eight: Red Herring**  
A month passed, and still Holmes was searching for the mysterious woman who had burned Campbell's house to the ground.  
Daniela Zapados had a solid alibi for the time of the fire, as did her brother.  
Holmes was stumped, and he was ruining his health over it. I had to drug him several times just so that he would get some sleep, and I also had to threaten him to get him to eat and drink as well.  
Campbell's wrist appeared to be healing, without any indications of complications.  
Victoria, now six weeks old, had grown quite a bit under Mrs. Hudson's care--with Holmes busy with his case and I myself with my practice, Holmes, _and_ Campbell, neither of us could take care of the kitten ourselves.  
When I tried to thank Mrs. Hudson, our admirable landlady insisted that it was not at all a problem for her to take care of the kitten for us.  
In fact, I think she quite enjoyed the chance to use her maternal instincts on one more welcoming of her care than her two tenants.  
CRASH!  
I jumped, startled by the unexpected sound of breaking glass--Holmes was out searching for information.  
"Oi'm sorry, Doctor Watson," exclaimed Campbell.  
At his feet was the remains of an inkwell--which had unfortunately been full of black ink. On Holmes' desk beside the lad was Victoria, an innocent look on her face.  
"What happened?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling that the kitten was the one who really owed me an apology.  
"Oi was playin' wif Victoria when sh' knock'd o'er th' ink bottle," Campbell informed me. "Oi should 'ave been more careful an' watchin' out fer tha' ink bottle."  
"It's alright, Campbell," I said kindly, as I carefully picked up the larger pieces of glass with an old rag.  
"Is Mrs. 'Udson gonna be mad at me fer breakin' it?" Campbell asked.  
"It was an accident, Campbell," I observed, "she won't be angry at you for an accident."  
_But she would probably be angry at me for allowing it to happen_, I mentally added.  
"But sh' gets real mad wif Mister 'Olmes when 'e breaks something on accident," Campbell pointed out.  
"That's because he's being careless," I quickly explained, as footsteps pounded up the seventeen stairs to the sitting room.  
THUNK!  
Holmes had opened the sitting room door with so much force that the knob stuck in the wall.  
Mrs. Hudson was _so_ going to raise our rent for that.  
But our landlady's ire was the last thing on my friend's mind--if it even was on his mind--, as he greeted me with a cheery "Hullo, Watson!" as he fairly _skipped_ over to his desk.  
"You look happy," I observed, unsure whether I should be worried or happy about his unexplained cheerfulness.  
"As well I should be," he replied.  
"You've figured out how Daniela Zapados was in two places at once?" I asked.  
"She wasn't behind the fire, Watson," Holmes replied.  
"I thought you didn't believe in coincidence," I objected.  
"Campbell's father _was_ referring to Miguel Zapados, who has temporarily joined forces with a fiesty Lebanese woman by the name of Mary Amador(1) to expand their criminal empires into London," Holmes explained.  
"So you think that this Mary Amador was behind the fire?" I asked.  
"At Miguel Zapados' bidding," Holmes agreed.  
I frowned, unable to figure out why the name 'Mary Amador' sounded so famillar to me.  
"What is it, Watson?" Holmes asked, noticing my expression.  
"Nothing, Holmes," I immediately replied. It probably was just nothing. Even if it did turn out to be something, Holmes didn't need to be distracted by my mental blunderings while on a case.  
Holmes didn't look entirely convinced, though he did not press the matter further.  
"Look out, Mister 'Olmes!" exclaimed Campbell when he saw that Holmes was about to put his foot down on the puddle of glass and black ink.  
Holmes froze mid-step and looked down. Then he looked back up at me with a slightly comical expression of disbelief. Did he really think that _he_ was the only one capable of staining the carpets of 221b?  
"Does Mrs. Hudson know about this?" he asked me.  
"Not yet," I admitted. "Your cat knocked over a bottle of ink off of your desk."  
"You are so not putting the blame for this mess on me, Watson," Holmes informed me.

1. 'Amador' is an actual Lebanese surname.


End file.
